Earth's Greatest Magus

Three days before the duel

The Earth warriors were given a training facility to prepare themselves. Some focused on cultivation, others sparred or offered guidance to their peers.

Thrax, in particular, was overly enthusiastic.

The immortal gladiator was a towering figure of bronze muscle and unshakable resolve. He welcomed the surrounding assault as though it were a greeting from old friends. His booming laugh shook the field.

Around him, six elite warriors converged: Octavius, Titus, and Armenius—young but formidable Romans—moved as one, forming a triangular encirclement, their weapons blazing with condensed ether.

The one who led the charge was Glita—the Fey girl—transformed mid-dash, her graceful human frame replaced by a lithe, silver-haired beast cloaked in frost. Her claws glinted with icy energy, every slash hissing like steam as it cut the air.

From above, Brandt dove like a raptor, his spear crackling with elemental wind, spiraling downward in a death dive.

“Now!” shouted Octavius.

Brandt obeyed, and the moment he struck from above, Gweneth Lioness unleashed the blade in her hand.

Excalibur.

The legendary sword flared with golden power as it floated from her palm and rocketed forward, synced perfectly with Gwen’s own charge. The blade mirrored her intent, aiming straight for Thrax’s exposed side.

BOOM!

The assault was nothing short of a storm. Spears struck with hurricane force. Claws slashed through stone. Divine sword and spellfire converged on the lone gladiator.

Dust exploded from the impact zone. But a low rumble came from within the smoke.

“Tch.”

With a single step, Thrax emerged.

Unscathed.

His muscles flexed, veins glowing faintly with power. Then, like a thunder god descending from the arena sands of old, he moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

His fist collided with Octavius’s shield, shattering the enchanted metal like glass. A spinning backhand sent Armenius tumbling, breathless. Brandt’s aerial dive was caught mid-air—Thrax gripped him by the leg and flung him into Titus like a ragdoll.

Glita managed to land a swipe across his cheek—ice trailed along his skin—but he laughed. “Good one,” he grunted, before sweeping her off her feet with a rising knee and slamming her into the ground.

Only Gwen was left standing.

She tried to retreat, Excalibur circling protectively, but Thrax was already upon her. His palm met her abdomen—not a strike, but a firm push—yet it sent her flying backward into the wall with a loud thud.

When the dust settled, six elite warriors lay strewn across the floor, groaning.

“Arghh… Senior, you’re too strong!” Octavius gasped from the ground, clutching his ribs.

Thrax’s grin widened.

“Too strong? No, no.. all of you are just not tough enough!”

He raised his voice, and with it came a sound deeper than words—a battle roar, instinctual and primal. His voice rolled like thunder through the chamber.

“Again!”

A wave of invisible pressure surged from him, an aura so heavy that even watching magus on the sidelines flinched. But his six opponents, bruised and battered, felt their blood ignite again. Their bodies moved before their minds could argue.

They rose.

Every soul in the room paused to watch.

From the edge of the training arena, Klea observed with arms folded. A small, proud smile curled on her lips. She remembered this scene—Lord Izta’s brutal drills, the way he would break them just to remake them stronger. These six, too, were learning the hard way what true battle readiness looked like.

But this was not the time to let them get seriously injured.

She stepped forward.

“That’s enough, Thrax!” she called firmly.

He looked over his shoulder, only mildly annoyed.

The six battered warriors staggered off the field, returning to lighter training with the Izta widows. Their pride was bruised more than their bodies, but their eyes burned with new determination.

In their place, two new figures approached the center ring.

Ashaka and Damo—master and disciple—approaching from opposite sides. They moved with seamless coordination, fluid like water, yet every strike thundered with explosive martial power. Their martial arts were not flashy but devastating, honed through countless battles and forged in discipline.

Among the two, Damo displayed a shocking advancement. Though still young, he had already broken into the Half-Moon Magus realm. What was more astounding was that his strength now rivaled that of his master, Ashaka, who had reached Full Moon.

Thrax, impressed and was forced to unleash a fraction of his true strength.

The [Nine Sun Divine Technique] ignited around him, golden flames erupting as his battle power surged to new heights.

But the master and disciple pair remained calm. They took a deep breath in unison and began chanting a mantra.

The [Nine Moon Divine Technique] emerged to meet the sun’s wrath with lunar serenity. Silvery light coiled around their limbs, and with renewed grace, they matched Thrax’s fiery onslaught strike for strike.

Each move was precise, elegant, and restrained—neither side revealing their full potential, preserving their hidden cards for the upcoming duel.

Morgana stood silently beside Klea, her gaze sharp and contemplative as she observed the warriors of Earth. Her eyes scanned every motion, every exchange, calculating.

Soon, Klea noticed movement in the sky—a sleek, metallic vessel descending into the hangar bay. Her breath caught.

A return ship.

She dashed toward the landing platform just as the ship’s ramp extended with a mechanical hiss. Out stepped Julian, his expression grim. Hardy followed behind, looking equally downcast.

Klea wasted no time.

“How did it go?” she asked, her voice laced with a mixture of hope and urgency.

Julian met her eyes and shook his head. “No. They won’t agree to a postponement… We don’t have a justifiable enough reason.”

Klea clenched her jaw. For days now, they had been pushing to delay the duel—just a month, a week, even a few days would make a difference. Just enough time for Emery to return. But once again, they’d failed.

“Did you explain clearly what he did in Valeryn?” she demanded, her tone rising. “Did you?”

Julian’s reply was tight. “Of course I did.”

But Klea’s trust wavered. She turned to Hardy instead, hoping that perhaps the presence of someone who had been in that mission—someone who had witnessed Emery’s actions—might have swayed them more.

She stared at the young man, her voice a bitter whisper. “I should have gone myself…”

Julian quickly tried to calm her down. “Klea… Listen… This duel… It’s bigger than we thought… they can’t postpone it lightly.”

But Klea was already shaking her head, her trust in Julian’s words nearly gone. Her gaze flicked back to Hardy, demanding the truth. “Is that true, Hardy? Did you try everything?”

“Yes, Master…” Hardy said with a respectful bow. “We did all we could. Someone even spoke on our behalf… a Nephilim woman.”

Klea’s brows furrowed. Her frustration reignited as her voice turned cold. “Athena? What can she do? She’s a Kronos! Of course, she wouldn’t help us.”

Julian let out a long, tired sigh. “It wasn’t Athena.”

“Then who?” Klea asked, confused.

Before anyone could answer, a low hum filled the hangar. Another ship was approaching— Its polished gold plating shimmered in the sunlight as it glided into position. This was a royal ship.

The ramp extended, and then the figure emerged.

A familiar silhouette draped in a pale silver robe, a young Nephilim woman radiated an aura of high status.

Jinkan Nephilim

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